


Tell Me A Story

by Shadow_Taylor



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fiction, Original Fiction, Work In Progress, will write a better summary later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 10:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18207449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Taylor/pseuds/Shadow_Taylor
Summary: Castor Carter was a normal kid by his own standards. He had a Mom who ran a charity she didn't care for and had more secrets than you could count on one hand, a little sister whose life and death his mother covered up like her life depended on it, a father he had never met or heard about, and, at the age of twelve, a therapist that he knew he could trust with anything. He really only had his own standards to compare his life to.But there were eyes everywhere around Castor Carter, and they were always watching him. And when he tripped up and spoke about things he wasn't supposed to, they knew.Castor Carter went missing when he was fourteen. He showed up again at seventeen and changed almost completely.For better or worse is the real question.Follow Castor Carter as he navigates his way through his memories of the years he was gone and whatever else he could remember from his life before. With the help of his therapist, will he be able to make his way back and find the one who helped him survive the three years he was gone?





	Tell Me A Story

“Tell me a story.”

The woman spoke with a soft voice that wasn’t familiar to her or her patient. Being a therapist, she was used to speaking in a professional manner, to both her patients and her friends. She was good at what she did and no one had any reason to question that fact. She saw patients, she spoke to them, she tried her best to help them. Sometimes she could and sometimes it just wasn’t enough, but she didn’t like to dwell on those thoughts. She didn’t get attached to her patients as many others that she knew in her profession seem to. She knew that every patient was temporary and wouldn’t need her soon enough so she saw no reason to know anything about her patients other than what she needed to know. 

Of course she cared for each one of them. She wasn’t completely heartless (though some of her friends might disagree). She just didn’t see the point in getting attached to people, especially the ones that she knew for a fact would leave her one and she would rarely ever see again.

So she did her job to the best of her abilities while trying not to get too attached. And it worked. For all but one.

A few years before the current one, a mother and son duo came into the office of a colleague and that colleague called her, stating that there was a mistake and they were heading to her office and that she needed to be prepared.

“The woman looks like someone set her favorite pants on fire.” She recalled her colleague saying. “She was pissed. Little kid looked too frightened to talk and as thin as a stick. Hope she’s not done anything she’ll regret. We’re allowed to file reports in this state, aren’t we?”

“Only if we have absolute proof that something’s been done,” She replied, slightly distracted by cleaning up a few papers lying around her office. “Or something’s not been done.” 

That conversation had ended almost as quickly as it started and in no time, the therapist heard a short but loud knock on the door of her office. 

She walked to the door, smoothed out her long black skirt, and opened the door.

The first seen and most noticeable thing about the duo was the woman. She looked like the type to scream at restaurant workers for bringing her food out a minute later than she wanted. She had on an outfit that seemed way too fancy to wear while just heading to a therapist’s office, so the therapist suspected that she was in a hurry to go somewhere else where the outfit was to blend in or that she had just left someplace like that. Either way, the other therapist was correct. She did look as though someone had set her favorite pair of pants on fire, with her frown that somehow made her look younger than she most likely was, as though she had been frowning since she was a child and it was the position her face was most used to. She had her eyebrows scrunched and was glaring like it was the thing that she did the most and was the best at (which it could possibly be). 

The child, who looked maybe eleven or twelve at best, was hiding behind the woman and holding onto her leg while she attempted to get him to let go and stand in front of her. The child looked sad. Terribly sad. And angry, but he didn’t look as angry as he did sad. He wore clothing in similar style to (who the therapist assumed was) his mother, but instead of a long dark dress, he wore a pure black child’s tuxedo, which he looked extremely uncomfortable in, by the way he tugged at the collar. His hair seemed unmoving, most likely from a tub load of gel, even though the doors at the other end of the hallway were propped open and it was a very windy day, and his eyes were red as though he had been crying the whole way there. 

The lady looked up when the door opened and started to talk straight away.

“Hello, yes, you must be Dr. Rebecca Connors,” The woman spoke more as a statement than a question and slightly rushed, as though she was in a hurry to get this over with. “I’m Olivia Carter of the Carter’s Children Donation Foundation. You’ve probably heard of me before.”

The Olivia woman pushed past her in the doorway, finally getting the boy to let go, took off her jacket, handed it to Rebecca, and sat on the very edge of the light gray couch that sat against the wall of Rebecca’s office. Rebecca took the jacket and hung it on a coat racket that Olivia could’ve very easily put it on herself, thank you very much.

Rebecca had heard of Olivia Carter before. She was basically all that had been talked about on the news since the death of her youngest daughter and the divorce between her and her (most recent) husband, but Rebecca wasn’t going to let the woman, who looked to be the reason her son was sad, have the pleasure of knowing that she knew who she was. She might’ve also just wanted to see the look on her face if she said she had no idea who she was.

Rebecca put on her fakest smile. “I’m sorry, who?” 

She had no idea why she didn’t like this woman, but she trusted her gut, which, at the moment, was telling her that this lady was no good.

Olivia looked surprised for a moment, as though the idea of someone not knowing who she was was improbable, before going back to her frown. “Oh. You must be new to this city.”

“I’ve lived here for ten years ma’am.” Rebecca replied, managing to hide a laugh behind her fist as Olivia’s face contorted and she attempted to bring it back to its natural position. 

“Well. I’m here to schedule a series of meetings for my son. You were recommended by a friend and so I decided to let you try to fix my son.”

Rebecca definitely did not like this woman now.

“I’m sure you mean that you want me to help your son, correct? I can’t just ‘fix’ people, I’m sure you’re informed.” 

The woman looked positively pissed now. She didn’t seem like the type that was used to being talked back to. 

‘Good job Rebecca,’ She thought to herself. ‘Yeah, make enemies with the rich, famous, and possibly evil lady who could probably ruin your life with a tap of her foot.’

Rebecca cleared her throat and asked, “So. What seems to be the problem?”

“He’s a child.” Olivia stated, as though it explained the whole predicament.

“Yes, and?” Rebecca questioned. “He is a child. Thanks for stating the obvious.”

‘Stop digging yourself an even bigger hole Rebecca.’

Rebecca sighed and, seeing that the lady seemed like she was bound to erupt any second, stayed quiet until she answered, silently sending sympathy the little boy’s, who’s name she still did not know, way for having to deal with this woman daily. It’s probably how he got whatever problem that he was coming in with.

Olivia calmed herself down enough to say, “He won’t stop acting like a child. Whenever we go to an event or an important party, he starts to act up and mess around and most of the time, make a mess.” 

She said the last part while glaring at the boy, who had slowly made his way into the room and stood in the corner with his hands hidden behind his back. He lowered his head at the accusation.

Rebecca walked towards the boy, who reached only around her belly button, and kneeled in front of him. 

“Hello,” She said and smiled at him. “What’s your name?”

He lifted his head and looked at her before replying with in a small, but firm voice. “Castor. Castor Carter.”

‘That poor kid. Who the hell names their kid Castor Carter? Apparently Olivia Carter, that’s who.’

Rebecca got up. “I’ll talk to you in a few minutes. Can you wait for just a little while longer? Then we’ll be able to arrange times to talk about whatever you want, okay?”

Castor nodded heavily and Rebecca turned back to Olivia and opened her mouth to speak, but Olivia beat her to it.

“So, everything should be fine now, correct?” She asked, apparently rhetorically, since she didn’t wait for Rebecca to answer before continuing. “Great. I’ll pick him up in a few hours.”

“Ma’am, there’s a whole process to go through to actually get therapy sessions, you know that right? You have to sign up, pay-”  
Olivia waved her statement off. “I have my assistant do whatever it is you need done for this later, but right now I have an event to get back to, so here’s for today’s session.” 

She took some money out of her purse (that Rebecca’s sure that she didn’t actually count), shoved it into Rebecca’s unexpecting hands and was out the door before Rebecca could even say bye.

She turned back to Castor who looked even more sad now that his mother was gone. 

“Well,” Rebecca couldn’t help but say. “She’s a handful, isn’t she?”

Castor did not answer.

______

 

Rebecca remembered that day as well as she remembered what happened five minutes ago. It was the day that she first met Castor, who had grown to be like a son to her over the years that he attended her therapy sessions. 

After Olivia had left her office that day, Rebecca had offered Castor a chocolate chip cookie from a small container on her desk and he smiled a small, watery smile and Rebecca knew that someday he would be okay.

Eventually, after a few sessions of trying to get information other than about his day out of Castor, Rebecca finally learned that to get information about his family out of him, she had to tell him about her family, which turned out to be rather difficult, seeing that it had really only ever been her and her mother while she grew up and her mother died when she was nineteen, a few years ago, but she managed and she told him about some of the happy and sad moments of her childhood while he slowly opened up about his family. More specifically, why he acted up during the CCDF’s events. He told her about how he felt about his little sister’s death and everything it had caused, but he hadn’t once talked about how her death had occurred.

Castor was one of the only patients that Rebecca had allowed herself to form a friendship with after realized that he was going to be attending sessions for a long time due to all the traumatic events that he had experienced. She had weekly therapy sessions with him for two years, neither of the two once missing a meeting. In the two years, Castor had gotten slightly more confident. He was more sure of himself, but still had problems with anxiety and panic attacks, a result of the events that had led to his little sister’s death. Over the two years, he had grown from the scared like boy that had entered her office crying and hanging onto his mother’s dress to a teenager who still cried every so often, but had slightly more control over his emotions and his actions. He still obviously hated all the events his mother forced him to go to with her, but he went obligingly, not particularly wanting to fight with anyone, let alone his mother, no matter how cruel and cold she could be. 

They had made a great amount of progress in his therapy sessions. They became friends.

Which is why it hit Rebecca so hard when Castor Caster went missing two years after their therapy sessions began.

The last thing that they had talked about was his little sister’s death. He was telling her that he was finally prepared to tell her about what happened to his sister when his mother showed up forty minutes early and forced him to go home.

Rebecca considered it less of a coincidence and more a deviation from the plan Olivia Carter had created to get away with anything.

So when Castor missed their next appointment and the news of Olivia Carter’s only child left going missing was all over the news, Rebecca knew she couldn’t do anything about it. 

But she knew there was something not right happening. But she had no evidence, no sway in the world that would make any difference.

So when the police apparently found evidence that proved Castor Carter, son of the famous Olivia Carter, was dead, everyone mourned for him. Rebecca mourned. They never released what evidence they had found, keeping it secret while they searched for a possible murderer, if there even was one. 

Rebecca had other patients. She helped them to the best of her abilities and they left at the end of each appointment, her knowing more about their lives than they knew about hers. She vowed to never form a friendship with patient again.

Three years after Castor Carter had gone missing and two years after evidence had been found that he was dead, Rebecca sat at her desk in her office, holding a notepad and pen in her hands as she squinted her eyes at the seventeen year old boy that sat in front of her on the long grey couch reserved for patients. He sat with his knees pulled to his chest, holding them close as he perched his chin on top of them. He had a weary and tired look on his face, with a hint of sadness that was nearly undecipherable, but Rebecca was used to having to find out how her patients were feeling if they would not tell her themselves. His expression did not look like one that a seventeen year old should had to wear. 

He had an Iron Man bandaid on his cheek, it not fully covering a long scratch that ran along his face. He looked like he had the world upon his shoulders and there was no one that could help him bear the weight. He wore an ugly Christmas sweater that looked extremely old and worn out, there being jagged rips in the sleeves and red stains in some areas of it, which Rebecca hoped was ketchup stains, even though she knew right away they weren’t. He had black jeans and black boots, both of which had mud caked all over them. Rebecca didn’t even complain when he walked over her carpet with his muddy boots.

Contrary to some people’s beliefs (cough cough *Olivia Carter’s* cough cough), Rebecca was not stupid. She knew exactly who was sitting in her office, looking like he had gotten hit by a car, after having been missing for three years and confirmed dead for two. She knew she should probably be freaking out, calling the police and telling them that the missing and confirmed dead son of the famous philanthropist Olivia Carter was sitting in her office, very much still alive, doing anything else other than sitting there and waiting for him to talk to her. Tell her where he had been for the past three years. Why he was sitting there in her office. Anything. 

Rebecca was smart. She knew that doing anything but her job at the moment could scared the boy she had considered the closest she would ever have to a son away again. So she did the thing she knew best. 

She asked questions and she listened.

“Tell me your story,” She specified.

Castor’s gaze flickered towards the ground, his eyes wide and empty and moving back and forth, as if he was searching for something that wasn’t there. He didn’t move or speak for a while and the therapist opened her mouth to repeat her words incase he hadn’t heard her, when he spoke a single sentence.

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

Could his story really be so complicated that he thought that the therapist that had done her best to help him three years ago, wouldn’t believe him?

“Why, Castor, do you think I wouldn’t believe you? I’d like to think of myself as an open-minded person. I would’ve thought that you believed that too.”

“I wouldn’t believe me,” He answered, glancing up at her for a second, his muddy green eyes meeting her dull gray ones, before he looked at the floor again, “If I heard the story I have to tell. I not even sure if I believe it and I lived through it.”

“Well, you need to give me something to work with, Castor. You’ve been missing for three years.” Rebecca didn’t have much of an idea of how to go about talking to people who were pronounced missing and dead. It wasn’t like there were guidebooks on how to. “I’d think you’d have something in dire need of sharing or else you wouldn’t be sitting here in the chair across from me just like old times. If you think you need to tell me your story, I will try my best to give you the benefit of the doubt, no matter how impossible your story may sound.”

“I don’t know why I’m here,” Castor said, putting his legs on the ground and standing up, “I should go.”

He started towards the door when Rebecca called out to him.

“I’m not going to judge you Castor,” She said in the softest voice she could manage, not stopping him from leaving, but letting him know that he could stay and talk if he wanted, “You, of all people, should know that I won’t judge you or any of my patients. Nothing you say will leave this room unless you want it to.”

Castor’s hand froze as it turned the doorknob and he stared down at it. 

“Has it really been three years?” He said, his voice shaking.

“Yes.”

He turned around and stared at her like he had never met her before. He scanned her face, as if he was trying to see whether she was lying or not. He must not have seen anything wrong because he released the doorknob and gingerly sat back down on the couch.

“I didn’t want to disappear, you know,” He said, “I wasn’t supposed to.”

“Then why did you? What happened that night, Castor Carter? What has been going on in your life for the past three years?” Rebecca leaned forward, clearly interested in whatever his answer would be.

He laughed sadly and shook his head.

“You won’t believe me.”

“Humor me.”

And so he did.


End file.
